


Migraine

by AnotherNamelessGhoul



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherNamelessGhoul/pseuds/AnotherNamelessGhoul
Summary: Geralt's mutations sometimes leave him overstimulated and with crippling headaches. Jaskier won't let him go through it alone. One shot.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	Migraine

Jaskier grumbled to himself as he gathered firewood. Get had sent him away with much more force than he thought was necessary, and in fact he'd been snappish and short all day, moreso even than usual. He'd shouted at him to go, to gather wood or water, to get lost in the woods, something, just to go, and Jaskier had went. 

He decided he was going to go back with the few pieces of wood that he'd gathered and tell Geralt he could bloody well go somewhere himself if he wanted solitude, because Jaskier was tired and hungry and he wasn't going to walk around the woods all bloody night because Geralt had gotten a stick up his ass over something. What would actually probably happen was Gerslt would glare at him and he'd sulk off to sit alone until Geralt cooked dinner and threw him some food as a peace offering, but he could pretend he'd give the witcher a piece of his mind at any rate. 

He stomped back to camp with a purpose. "Geralt, I-" but he didn't see the witcher. He glanced around for a moment before seeing a huddled form on one of the spread-out bedrolls, with a cloak covering all of it. "Geralt?" 

He walked over, anger forgotten. Geralt had his cloak pulled over his face, pressing it into his eyes. He didn't move when Jaskier approached, so Jaskier tugged lightly at the fabric, exposing his face. Geralt whimpered, actually whimpered, and squeezed his golden eyes so tightly shut it made all of the muscles in his pale face go taught. He shuffled underneath the stack of furs he'd piled over himself and finally freed his arm, swatting out blindly and missing Jaskier completely. Then he tugged at the cloak. Jaskier released and he covered his eyes with it again, rolling away.

"Geralt, what's wrong? Talk to me." He'd never seen Geralt this way and he'd surely never heard him make a sound so pathetic. This was not right at all.

"Fuck 'ff," he mumbled into the folds of the cloak, bring his hands up to press into his eyes through the fabric, letting out a shuddery sigh. 

"Is it your head?" He asked. He found his way into the folds and lay a hand on Geralt's cheek. Geralt pulled away as if burned and then let out another pathetic sound as the movement jostled him, pressing his fingers into his temples and holding on like if he let go he'd fall to pieces.

"No touch then, right. So it is your head? And your witcher senses are making everything more sensitive, huh? That must be terrible. Why'd you run me off, I could have tried to help sooner?"

"Jas," he hissed, shu'up."

"Right. Sounds are bad." He lowered his voice to an almost whisper. "Has this happened before? You don't have to say anything, tap once for yes, twice for no." And he offered out a hand. He thought at first Geralt was going to ignore him entirely, but then fingertips tapped once against his palm. "Is it serious?" 

One tap. 

"Just miserable, then." 

Another tap. 

"What do you usually do to feel better?"

"This." So quiet Jaskier almost didn't hear it. 

"This doesn't seem to be helping much. No potions for it?" 

Two taps. No. "Nauseous," he mumbled.

No good then, alright. Well you're sensitive to touch. Is your armour bothering you? 

One tap.

"Okay, can I help you take it off? I'll be as careful as I can."

A long pause, then Geralt slowly, slowly shuffled himself upright and Jaskier set to taking his gambeson off. He was soaked in sweat and his whole body seemed to droop in relief when he was free from it.

"Something the mutations cause?" He asked, forgetting to offer something for Geralt to tap, and he got the tiniest of nods from the Witcher. 

"What if I soak a cloth in the river and use it to cool you down and block out the light? I know everything is a lot right now. Is that too much?" 

"No." Jaskier wasn't sure what question he'd answered until he followed it up with a small, strained "please."

"Yes, of course." He made down to the river, tearing up and old shirt and soaking it in the cool water. When he got back, Geralt was still upright but slumped over, head in hands, shaking slightly.

"I won't touch you if you don't want but if you'd like to lay your head in my lap I'll try and muffle some of the sounds of the forest and you can rest." He didn't expect much but Geralt, after a long moment, eased himself down. Jaskier covered his eyes with the cloth and felt tension go from his body and watched some of the strain loosen from his face. 

He hovered his hands, not sure where to rest them until Geralt reached up and, in the purest form of trust Jaskier had ever seen, tugged one down to rest in his hair. Jaskier ran his nails along the Witcher's scalp, feather light and tentative. "Not too much? Is this helping?"

One tap, gentle against the palm resting on his head before Geralt let his arm drop.

"Have you done this alone every time before?" He didn't need an answer, he knew Geralt well enough to know that he had. "Well, I've got you now. Take as long as you need."

"Thank you." Jaskier was sure that he'd misheard it, but he smiled anyways and continued stroking through Geralt's hair.


End file.
